The Frame
by flyingsoloflyingfree
Summary: The conversation hadn't ended, not really. He hadn't gotten a chance to say his part. He'd left her hanging. Takes place during and after 7.02 Reunion, spoilers for beginning of season seven and the end of season six.
1. Trance

**_A/N: This is a fanfiction based on a photo taken on set last year. It takes place during 7.02 Reunion, so spoilers for that, for 7.01, and for the end of season six._**

**_I know this chapter is really short but the next one will make up for it, I promise!_**

**_Thanks a million for reading, truly. Reviews are always appreciated, especially since this is the first multi-chapter fanfic I've published in a while. Enjoy! (:_**

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><p>His brain doesn't start really functioning again until he's sitting filing paperwork after Elaina's been put behind bars—the forms mockingly ask him the manner of the arrest and it takes all of his willpower not to just write "BAMF"—but when his brain does resume, it goes into overtime. All of a sudden his mind is back in the men's room and Ziva is standing there, talking to him, apologizing. And that just makes no sense whatsoever because it's Ziva, dammit, and since when did she apologize?<p>

He stares at the page for so long that he doesn't notice when Gibbs silently approaches his desk and creeps up behind him. And when he does notice his boss hovering over his shoulder, he winces, preparing for a headslap. When he doesn't get a smack to the back of his head, Tony looks up at his boss, puzzled.

Gibbs leans over so that only Tony can hear his words. "Did she talk to you?" he whispers gruffly.

_How the hell does he do that? How does he always know? _Tony, bewildered, nods mutely. Gibbs leans back and stares at Tony's face, really stares at him, trying to read him and listen to the voices in his head and hear whatever it was Ziva said to him. Tony shifts uncomfortably, wondering if his face gives him away. Finally, his boss leans over again.

"Get outta here, DiNozzo. Go get some sleep," Gibbs orders him softly, then claps a hand on the agent's shoulder and walks back to his desk. Tony's head spins. What is around here? He waits for a moment to see if Gibbs will come back and tell him that he was kidding, to finish his damn paperwork, but he doesn't. He just sits contentedly at his desk, pulls out a sandwich and begins to eat his dinner.

So Tony gathers his things and shuts off his desk light. He pauses awkwardly in front of Gibbs's desk for a moment, and when he doesn't look up from his sandwich, Tony clears his throat. Gibbs's gaze doesn't move. "Yes, Tony?" he says irritably. Tony shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then back again, thinking of what he wants to say. Finally, he just mutters, "Thanks, boss," then turns and makes his way to the elevator.

xXxXx

His mind is completely on autopilot and he finds himself driving in circles for a while.

_That you had my back. _

_That you have always had my back. _

_And that I was… wrong to question your motives. _

_No. It is I who am sorry. _

He suddenly makes a sharp turn down a side street and he hears several cars behind him beep and swerve to avoid hitting him. He barely notices.

The conversation hadn't ended, not really. When she told him she should have trusted him because he was a cop, he had an idea about the case and fled the bathroom in a hurry. He hadn't gotten a chance to say his part. He'd left her hanging.

He ends up in front of her building, staring up at the apartment that used to be hers. Now, the windows are boarded up and the bricks are still stained black. Apparently, they haven't repaired the damage from when her apartment was blown up months back. He grits his teeth at the memory of it.

Time to make things right.


	2. For Tonight

**_A/N- I didn't give the official disclaimer before, so: yeah, I don't own the characters. Or the show. But you already knew that. _**

**_Thank you so much for the support and reviews! I hope this chapter lives up to expectations! :)_**

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><p>She's staring into a mug of chai tea when she hears the knock on the door, and she immediately knows who it is, although she isn't sure why. She places her mug in the sink and doesn't bother looking through the peephole before she opens the door. Sure enough, her partner stands before her, his hands stuffed in his pockets. His hair is disheveled, like he has been pulling his hands through it in frustration. He meets her eyes and he doesn't speak.<p>

He takes in the sight of her, wearing a tank top and yoga pants. Her sleeping clothes reveal a lot more skin than her work attire typically does, and she's been covering up more than usual since she's gotten home. In the dim light of the hallway, Tony could suddenly understand why.

On her left arm, a menacing scar travels from her elbow to the back of her shoulder. Her arms are colored with less pronounced pink lines that cross her skin in harsh jagged patterns. Tony also notices for the first time just how much weight she's lost—her legs are far skinnier than he remembers them. The way the yoga pants cling to her bony figure just can't be healthy; he swears he can see her ribs through the snug black camisole that hugs her slender frame.

Even though he's logically aware that the man who did this to her is dead, even though he watched Saleem's corpse bleed out before his eyes, Tony feels his entire body become tense with disgust and bitter hatred. His blood boils as he absorbs the sight of her scarred frail body.

She sees him staring at her, and when he meets her eyes she sees a combination of rage and slight embarrassment for gawking so openly. Her face softens at the sight of his anger, and she makes no move to cover her battle wounds.

"How did you find out where I live?" she asks, her voice still rough with sleep. She only finished moving in hours before, finally relocating from the Navy lodge that had served as her temporary shelter. Her doctor didn't want her lifting heavy boxes until he was convinced she regained a fraction of her strength. She wanted to explain to him that moving was not a big deal, since most of her belongings had been blown up several months ago. But that would have only warranted more questions, so she bit her tongue and followed his orders.

Her question confuses him—he shows up at her door at one in the morning and the first words out of her mouth ask how he found her new apartment number? He blinks. "It was on a sticky note on Gibbs' desk," he responds, and she nods. Gibbs knows all.

She looks into his eyes and sees emotions whirling close to the surface; for once, he makes no effort to conceal them. Clearly, their conversation had not ended in the men's room earlier that day.

She turns around and retreats back into her apartment, and the unspoken invitation for him to follow her hangs in the air between them. But he understands and he follows her inside, like she knew he would.

She navigates through the few boxes on the floor, making her way to the kitchen. She's about to throw an offer for a drink over her shoulder when he speaks.

"Do you trust me now?"

She freezes in place, thrown off by the question that came from nowhere, apparently not requiring a greeting or small talk. She turns to face him, and he can see her try to piece together what he just said.

"What?" she says, so quietly in comes out as a whisper. He takes a step closer to her, wanting to be able to see her face more clearly. His eyes pierce hers with an intensity she'd almost forgotten. Almost.

"You trusted Ari, and Michael," he says, quoting her words from earlier. He swallows. "You couldn't afford to trust me," he says, his voice cracking in the middle. His pain tears a hole through her chest, but he continues on, repeating his question and taking another step toward her.

"Do you trust me now?" he breathed.

Her eyes flit away, suddenly avoiding his. All of the words she'd wanted so desperately to say when she'd been sitting in that cell, they all clash and collide nonsensically inside her.

How can she make him believe that he'd crossed her mind every single day she was captive? How could she convey to him the raw emotion, the relief and paralyzing fear that gripped her stomach when the bag was removed from her head and her partner was sitting before her? He'd been so willing to fight, to die, even, to avenge her death, at a point in their friendship when she deserved it least...

How can she make him comprehend that for the first time in years, her heart caught a glimpse of the loyalty and gratitude and _devotion_ that had been absent for as long as she'd lived?

Tony watches, fascinated, as all of these thoughts cross her mind—how she fights to find the words to express them and fails altogether. In her eyes, he reads the answer to the question he asked her. But she knows she has to say it out loud. She owes him at least that much.

Her voice is hoarse and gravelly but she presses the word out anyway. "Yes," she says quietly. "I trust you, Tony."

His chest rises and falls as he breathes a quiet sigh of relief, and the simple reflex makes her realize just how much damage they need to repair.

Her body is too physically and emotionally drained to be able to elaborate any farther. In the past twenty-four hours, they've both said the words "I'm sorry," and for right now, it is more than enough. The bags under his eyes tell her that he is equally exhausted.

She cocks her head at him, analyzing. "Stay the night," she says after a moment's pause. "It is late and you should not be driving."

He bites the inside of his cheek while he thinks. Three years ago—hell, maybe even a year ago—he would have made assumptions if those words came from her. He would have wagged his eyebrows suggestively and beamed at her, and she would have flirted back. She would have sauntered toward him seductively and invaded his personal space and he would have gone along with it, because those were the games that they played.

Now, her words hold no hidden meaning. Her voice is gritty from months of too much sand. The way she carries herself no longer reminds him of a warrior, but of a survivor. After she'd put an entire ocean between them, she is trying to let him back in.

He simply nods his head once, wordlessly accepting her offer. She looks at the couch and sighs at the sight of boxes piled high. Then, almost to herself, she shrugs.

"Come," she murmurs, then turns on her heel and leads the way to her bedroom.

Even though she'd just moved in, her room smelled like her—a sweet mix of her shampoo and perfume. There are several more boxes on the floor, but otherwise, the room looks barren. _She really is starting over from scratch in every aspect_, he thinks. With NCIS, with her belongings, with her trust.

They both climb into her bed and settle under the blankets. They wind up facing each other. Her arm supports her head under her pillow and she pulls the sheets up to her chin.

They just watch each other in silence for a long moment. The only sound is the gentle hush of their breathing.

Then, emotion overtakes him.

He'd spent months thinking that this woman—his beautiful partner, his _friend_—was gone forever. Then all at once, he found out that not only was she still alive, but that she was going to rejoin their team, rejoin their bizarre family. Rejoin him.

He wants so desperately to ensure she's real, and not a figment of his imagination. He needs to know she isn't a fabrication, like the wisps of memories he'd used to get himself through the long nights when he was scared he'd never see her again. He wants to erase her memories of torture and of pain, and replace them instead with recollections of simpler times—of movie nights during Gibbs's summer in Mexico, of their seemingly endless bantering, the pointless flirting and arguing that once filled the bullpen. He wants to take the pain from her, bear the weight himself so that she doesn't have to.

He wants to breach the canyon between them, close the space that had resulted from lies and pretense and self-imposed distance.

In the end, the urge to touch her wins out, and he reaches for her. Carefully, he wraps his arms around her and pulls her close to him. He hears her sharp intake of breath and he freezes, thinking that he moved too quickly for a woman who just endured months of physical abuse.

But then she relaxes and molds herself to his embrace, resting her head on his shoulder and bringing one hand to his chest. He swallows hard and fights to keep his emotions in check.

He mutters into her hair, "Is this okay?" With the arm she'd wrapped around his waist, she gives a gentle squeeze. "Yes," she replies into his neck, the word muffled but audible.

Tomorrow, they will return to their normal state of being. Or rather, they will try to regain whatever normal existed six months ago, before it all got screwed up. They will work to reestablish boundaries, they will go back to the tedious process of restoration. She has to fight to rejoin the agency, since Vance wasn't welcoming her back with open arms. She has to fight to recreate her life here in America.

Tomorrow, they will go back to acting like partners and coworkers, rather than lovers who fall asleep in each other's arms. But for tonight, it is the comfort and reassurance that is necessary, for him as much as it is for her.

For tonight, this is what they need; for tonight, normalcy doesn't matter.

xXxXx

He doesn't know how much time passes before her breathing becomes even and he knows sleep claimed her. He pulls back to look at her face and search for signs of nightmares, but her body is limp in his arms and the expression she wears is peaceful. With his pointer finger, he gently traces her cheekbone and the line of her jaw, trying to engrave her features into his mind.

In that moment, he becomes aware that he loves her. No, he is not _in_ love with her. Who knows, that could come someday; for now, there is a lot of rebuilding to be done. He loves her as a person.

He loves her because she doesn't cover her bruises or scars near him, and she doesn't chastise him for staring.

He loves her because she was so worried about him when she realized just how caught up with Jeanne he became.

He loves her because she always has the courage to tell him the things he _needs_ to hear most, rather than telling him what he _wants_ her to say.

He loves her because she always listens to Ducky when he goes off on a tangent, paying attention to every last word as if it's the most important story she's heard all day.

He loves her because when everyone puts McGee down, she tries to give him a compliment and restore his ego, even if they both know she isn't being entirely genuine.

He loves her because she let Abby hug her when they walked into the bullpen for the first time after Somalia.

He loves her _because_.

He wants to tell her, but the state of their friendship is fragile. He's afraid to rock the boat. He doesn't want her to misinterpret his words; he doesn't want his meaning to be construed; he doesn't want her to push him away again. He cannot just say those three terrifying words out loud to Ziva David. It just couldn't happen. But he still needs her to know.

As thoughts tumble around in his mind and his eyelids begin to grow heavy with fatigue, he notices there is one photograph taped to her otherwise empty beige walls, just above her nightstand. He squints in the darkness and he can barely make out three small figures in the darkness. He shifts slightly, careful not to wake the woman in his arms, to get a closer look, and he recognizes the picture at once. It is Ziva, Ari, and Tali when they were young children.

He remembers seeing it in her previous apartment in a beautiful wooden picture frame. He remembers it being broken during his fight with Michael, although he isn't sure who broke it. She must not have gotten a replacement frame.

That's what gives him the idea.

He smiles into her curls and closes his eyes at last. He feels his body succumb to the forces of sleep, tightening his grip on Ziva's slender body as he drifts. And although he's too tired to be absolutely sure, he swears he feels her nestle her nose into the crook of his neck and sigh contentedly.


	3. Blue Wrapping Paper

_**A/N- Sorry it's taken me so long to update. This chapter gave me a hard time for some reason- it takes place after Ziva is officially back. I hope you all like it.**_

_**Also, thank you so much for your kind reviews. I appreciate comments of any sort, truly. Thank you. **_

Tony sits down at his kitchen table and carefully removes a picture frame from several layers of bubble wrap. He searched everywhere for a frame identical to the one he (or Rivkin) broke, but he couldn't find anything even close.

Most of the picture frames he found, even after searching several stores, were too decorative. Either they looked as if they belonged in the bedroom of a teenage girl, or they looked like they should be someone's wedding present. None of them suited Ziva.

Eventually, he decided that a simple frame would be best. The frame in his hands is a perfect black square, nothing like the beautiful wooden frame she'd previously kept the picture in. A piece of white paper is mounted on two stripes of green paper. He'll never admit it out loud, and he definitely won't admit it to her, but he liked that there was green paper in it because it reminded him of the dress she wore undercover, which is one of his favorite memories of her. Not because she was naked and on top of him (although, really, the memory of naked Ziva is never really a _bad _one…) but because it was the first time she felt like his partner. When they were bound in chairs back to back and scheming for a way to get out alive, he could hear the concern in her voice. And when the assassin told his thug "If I'm not back in five minutes, shoot him", Tony recognized the fear in Ziva's eyes. That was the first time she was afraid for him, and he couldn't ever forget it.

Carefully, he removes the back of the frame and slides out the white piece of paper. Really, the paper is the placeholder for where the photograph should be, and she'll replace it with the picture of her, Tali, and Ari. But in the meantime, he'll use it to write her a note. He'd considered buying her a card too, but that proved to be a different challenge. Even Hallmark doesn't make cards that say "Hi, I'm sorry I killed your boyfriend/I'm glad you're still alive/Thank you for being my partner."

He takes out a black ballpoint pen and gnaws on the cap as he tries to think of what he wants to say to her. The sheet of paper is small—the size of a standard photo—so he can't write a novel. Not that he's sure what to say, anyway.

The thing with Ziva is that these kinds of things always go unsaid between them. And writing anything down is even more intimidating, because then it's on paper and permanent and out in the open, and that's just something they don't do. But then again, they also don't usually sleep together.

He realizes that the pen cap has teeth marks in it at this point and he still hasn't written a single word. He squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his temple. He knows what he wants to say, but not how he wants to say it.

…Maybe he _does_ know how to say it, but is afraid of what her reaction will be.

He places the pen down on the page and draws two parallel lines, then a line perpendicular to both of them to form a letter "I". He stops and rolls the pen between his pointer finger and thumb, hesitating.

Then, he remembers the way it felt to wake up in her arms; he remembers her smiling a small but genuine smile at him when she realized he was awake. Their bodies were intertwined—one of his hands was at the small of her back and the other was on the back of her neck. Her arms were wrapped around him protectively.

He'd feigned confusion, looking around her bedroom with narrowed eyes. "Did you kidnap me, David?" he'd asked her, keeping his tone playful so that she knew he was only trying to make light of the situation.

She huffed indignantly, pretending to be offended, but she didn't loosen her grip on him and remained still in his arms. He was relieved to see that she still had a sense of humor. "From how I remember it, _you_ were the one who showed up on _my_ doorstep at an ungodly hour in the night," she retorted, pinching his back. He yelped.

Her alarm began to blare while he'd been trying to come up with a witty response. She groaned and reached an arm back, blindly searching for the snooze button until the clock fell silent again. She placed her hand on his hip, waiting to see what would happen next. He met her gaze and reminded her softly, "You don't have to face this alone. We're all here for you, Ziva." She searched his face, then, deciding she believed him, reached a hand up to his cheek. "Thank you," she said, her voice quiet.

Remembering all of that now, Tony knows the words to write. He finishes the sentence he began, then signs "D N Jr."

xXxXx

"Dead sailor on the train. Grab your gear!" Gibbs barks as he breezes through the bullpen, steaming cup of coffee in hand. The team responds immediately, instinctively reaching down to snatch their backpacks off the floor. Then, Tony pauses.

"Ah, shoot. Boss, I left the camera down in Abby's lab when I was downloading pictures from the last case," he says. McGee's face is frozen in an expression of horror as he looks back and forth between Gibbs and Tony, fearing that his boss will end Tony's life on the spot. Ziva looks on with a smirk. But, as always, their boss does the unexpected.

"Good. You can tell Ducky and Palmer. Meet us there," he commands gruffly, then looks at Ziva and McGee expectantly. They hurry after him, a look of surprise painted on McGee's face. As the elevator doors open, Tony hears Gibbs say, "Something wrong, McGee?" McGee stammers, "N-no, boss. I'm fine." Tony looks up to see that Ziva's lips are twitching in her effort to contain a smile as the elevator doors close.

Tony surveys the bullpen to ensure that he isn't being watched. Then, he removes the frame from his bag, wrapped in navy blue wrapping paper (it's the only color gift wrap he owns). He tiptoes over to Ziva's desk as stealthily as possible, pretending he's searching for something. Quickly, he opens the top drawer and places the parcel in gently, so as not to break the glass. He closes the drawer and rushes back to his desk. He steals another glance around him and discovers that his actions had gone unobserved. He breathes a sigh of relief. As he makes his way toward the elevator to autopsy, he makes a mental note to himself to grab the extra camera out of Abby's lab. Thank God the team invested in a spare.

xXxXx

Ziva collapses at her desk chair after a long day in the field. She slouches a bit and closes her eyes, trying to collect her thoughts. Tony and McGee went home a while ago, and she would have, too, if she hadn't had to check in with Director Vance. She's really getting tired of all of these meetings with the director. But if that's part of the price she has to pay to be part of this team, she'll do it in a heartbeat.

She opens her eyes and begins to flip through the stack of forms and applications Vance gave her. Why does she have to file so much paperwork? It isn't like she hasn't worked with NCIS before…

She sighs and picks up a pen as Gibbs appears from Vance's office and comes down the stairs. He is about to head over to his desk and pack up for the day when he stops in his tracks takes several steps backward, landing himself in front of Ziva. She looks up at him with a gentle smile.

Ever since the talks they had in Gibbs's basement, their relationship has slowly been repairing itself. She can tell that he is regaining his trust in her, little by little, and she is eternally grateful for it, especially now that Eli is out of the picture. She cannot imagine what her life would be without Gibbs.

He motions to the paperwork on her desk. "More application forms?" he asks. She rolls her eyes and nods. "It seems to never end!" she moans, and Gibbs fights a smile.

She continues, "I am just going to fill this out now. If I do not, it may end up in a pile on my desk." Gibbs nods, and there is a moment of silence. She twirls the pen in her fingers. Eventually, he grunts, "Don't stay too late," and marches back to his desk to back up. She's genuinely touched by his words, and promises, "I won't, Gibbs."

He makes his way for the elevator and, without turning, calls out, "Goodnight, probie." She wants to wince at the nickname, because she is beginning to realize all of the hazing that comes with it, but she can't bring herself to be upset. Besides, when Gibbs says it, it almost comes out as a term of endearment. She calls back, "Goodnight!"

A half hour later, her paperwork is complete and she begins to gather her belongings to go home. She opens her desk drawer to grab her keys and instead, she finds a curious square item wrapped in dark blue paper. She furrows her brow as she pulls it out of her desk and searches inside the drawer. No card.

She turns the item over several times in her hands before she tears the wrapping paper off. It is a picture frame she realizes, surprised, and she begins to think that perhaps Abby got it for her. (Abby spent fifteen minutes yesterday insisting that they need to take more pictures of the team, because she apparently needs to "add more personality" to her lab. Tony had snorted incredulously. As if Abby's lab needs any more personality!)

Then, Ziva turns the frame to the front. A white piece of paper reads:

"I love you, Ziva.

D N Jr."

Her throat is tight and she feels tears prick her eyes as she reads the words over and over to herself.

She had come to the same realization when he was sitting before her in Somalia, and when he and McGee had helped her to stagger out of the camp. If he'd let her ramble in the men's room any more than he did that day, perhaps she would have said the words out loud. When he ran out to pursue a thought he had about the case, she'd thought to herself that it was better that she didn't. It wasn't something she and Tony had ever said to one another, and they needed to take baby steps to restore their friendship. She didn't want to scare him.

But apparently, the thought doesn't scare him.

She swallows and blinks, willing the tears to disappear. She didn't cry once in Somalia, or on the plane back to America. The closest she'd come to crying was in Gibbs's basement but even then, she'd held it together. And now, a few handwritten words in a picture frame make her choke up?

She runs her finger around the edge of the frame tenderly. He does not specify that he is not _in_ love with her, and that doesn't matter. She understands it without clarification, because the same thought crossed her mind when she was lying in his arms.

She holds the frame close to her chest and breathes deeply. She's never been this grateful for the presence of a single human being in her entire life.


	4. Embrace

**A/N- Last chapter! **

**Thank you **_**so**_** much for all of your support in this—this chapter took me longer to post than I thought it would (surprise, surprise) so I thank you for your patience as well. I wrote in lots of friendship in this one. Can you say fluff?**

**Also, because some people have asked, yes, this story is based on a behind-the-scenes picture from season seven. I'll post the link on my profile. The picture is not mine and I'm not trying to steal anyone's work. **

**Enjoy! (:**

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><p>Tony bounces on the balls of his feet in the elevator, silently willing it to move faster. He swears that the elevators at NCIS have minds of their own, because they seem to move slowest when he's running late. He checks his watch for the thirteenth time in ten minutes and curses. He should have taken the stairs!<p>

When the elevator doors finally open, he hurries into the bullpen and drops his gear. Gibbs, who is sitting at his desk, doesn't even look up. McGee and Ziva are nowhere in sight, but both of their computers are humming, indicating that they're in the building. Tony opens his mouth to apologize for his tardiness when he freezes. The picture frame that he gave Ziva is sitting on her desk. She didn't take it home with her. Shit. Did she not like it? Was she angry with him?

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs grunts, pulling him out of his thoughts. Tony moves to stand in front of his desk. "Yes, boss?" he answers, praying Gibbs won't chastise him for being late.

The grey-haired man holds out a Caf-Pow without looking up and says, "Bring this to Abby and ask her if she's got anything." Tony nods, taking the extremely large cup and mumbling, "On it, boss!"

He turns to walk away but Gibbs calls out after him. "Hey!" he says, and when Tony pivots on his feet, Gibbs is beaconing him back with his finger. Tony walks back to Gibbs's desk, clutching the Caf-pow anxiously. He meets his boss's eyes and finds himself facing a cold stare.

Several tense seconds pass and Tony's pulse spikes. What did he _do_? Without shifting his gaze, Gibbs stands and moves from behind his desk. He stands inches in front of Tony, his terrifying stoic glare making Tony's skin prickle uncomfortably. Finally, Gibbs says, "I found the camera in my bag, Tony."

_Red flag, first name!_ For a moment, Tony has no idea what his boss is talking about. Then, he remembers the lie he told in order to stay behind and leave the frame in Ziva's desk. He was caught.

His mind races as he tries to come up with an explanation for his behavior, and when he can think of nothing, he lifts his shoulders in a shrug, hoping that the action looks natural. "I wanted to give something to someone," he hears himself say, and Gibbs's eyes narrow. Tony forces himself to stare back and hold his ground. After what seems like an eternity, Gibbs nods once. "Abby's lab. Go," he orders the Senior field agent, and Tony wordlessly turns and walks away, letting out his breath as he does.

Gibbs watches Tony as he gets into the elevator, absently playing with the straw of Abby's Caf-pow and whistling to himself as the doors close. Then, Gibbs walks over to Ziva's desk and picks up the picture frame, examining it in his calloused hands. He reads the words to himself.

His eyes focus on something in the distance and his expression becomes both pained and peaceful in the same instant. The corners of his mouth turn upwards into a very small smile. He rereads the words again and nods to himself, as if reaffirming something inside of him.

xXxXx

For almost a week now, Ducky has been insisting that Ziva come down to autopsy for a brief check-up, even though she's promised him numerous times that she's okay and that her doctor has been taking good care of her. She managed to avoid Ducky for some time, but this morning, she caves. She knows that it is how he expresses his concern for her.

Even though she hates being poked and prodded, she sits still for him on the autopsy table while he examines her scars and calculates her BMI. He is very gentle, and she can tell his constant chatter is an attempt to soothe her nerves.

"Well, my dear, it looks like you are coming along nicely," Ducky finally confirms, handing Ziva her cardigan and helping her off the autopsy table. "As long as you continue to eat nutritious foods and not overwork your body, you should be in top form in no time!"

"I will, Doctor," she promises him. She begins to put her cardigan back on when Ducky exclaims, "Oh! I nearly forgot!" He goes over to his desk and removes a white paper bag. "This is for your scars," Ducky says as he comes back to where she is standing.

She begins to protest. "Oh no, Ducky, that is very kind of you, but—"

Ducky interrupts her. "It is only a cream! It will help them to fade, so that they aren't as prominent on your skin. Just apply it before you go to sleep," he instructs her, shoving the paper bag in her hands and leaving her very little choice in the matter.

Ziva smiles at the elderly gentleman. "Thank you, Ducky," she says, touched by his kindness. Ducky places a hand on her shoulder and looks into her eyes. "Take care of yourself, Ziva," he insists.

She wants to thank him again, but the words get stuck in her throat, so she just places her hand over his and smiles at him.

"Now, hurry back upstairs before Jethro discovers that I've stolen you," he says to her with a wink. She chuckles and squeezes his hand, then she does as the M.E. tells her.

xXxXx

Once she's in the elevator, she examines the tube of cream that Ducky gave to her. It's true, she hates the scars on her body—they are a constant reminder of the pain that she had to endure. It would be nice if they were less noticeable. She hears a _ding _and the elevator doors open to Abby's lab. Tony looks just as surprised to see her as she is to see him, but he wordlessly gets into the elevator and stands by her side.

The doors close and the elevator begins to move upward, but she halts its ascent with a flick of the emergency switch. Both of them are facing forward, and for a moment, and the anxiety flowing between them is almost palpable. Finally, though, she takes a shuddering breath and turns to face him. She sees him swallow and she can't meet his gaze yet; her eyes are fixated on the wall behind his head.

"Tony…" she begins, trying to find the words that she needs. He momentarily stops breathing, waiting nervously for her to speak. She crinkles the white paper bag in her hands and chews on her lip. She begins again.

"I am… not the same woman I was when I joined NCIS, when I… when I shot Ari," she says, still not really looking at him. He almost flinches at the mention of Ziva's half-brother, but he contains the grimace. If she saw his almost-reaction, she ignores it.

"I did not come to America with the intention of staying, and I knew my position at NCIS was temporary. I always assumed that I would return to Israel, to Mossad… to my father." Pain briefly flickers across her face, but it passes before he can act to comfort her. She unconsciously takes a step toward him and continues explaining, losing herself in the memories of earlier days.

"I did not trust any of you—not Gibbs, or McGee, or Abby." She chuckles half-heartedly. "_Especially _not Abby, because Abby did not like me," she remembers. He opens his mouth to deny her statement, but closes it quickly when he remembers that she's right. Abby had been so close to Kate that she couldn't help blaming Ziva for her murder. But Tony had just seen the "Welcome home, Ziva" sign that Abby made, so they had to get along now, right?

"I barely even trusted Jenny… Director Shephard," Ziva says, and they both shudder and push the memories of Jenny's death out of their minds. "I didn't trust any of you, because I had been told not to. My whole life, I was taught not to let people in," she says bluntly. He searches her face, wanting to know what she's thinking, but she looks down.

"Now… well, now I am damaged goods," she says quietly, quoting Vance. He shakes his head adamantly. "No, Ziva, you—"

She holds up a finger, silencing him. He hesitates, but in the end he nods and stays quiet.

"I have been through a lot in the past several months," she says.

_Yeah, biggest understatement of the year_.

She continues. "I think that it may take me a while to recover fully from what happened in Somalia," she confesses, and she absently runs one hand along the back of her arm, feeling the scar through the fabric of her shirt.

Well, no shit. It was going to take _him_ a while to recover, and he was only there for a few days. She was Saleem's prisoner for how many weeks?

She finally looks into his eyes. He swallows again.

"But, I now know that I have friends here in America, that I have people who will fight for me, fight… for my life." She takes a breath and searches his gaze. "I have a family here," she says simply.

The desire to speak swells in his chest. He wants to reaffirm her words, but he can tell she still has more to say. He bites his tongue.

"I told you that I am sorry, and I hope you know I mean it," she says, and her eyes burn, "but I don't think I ever thanked you."

She is completely caught off guard when he reaches out and crushes her to his chest. In her surprise, she drops the white paper bag and it falls at their feet, but he doesn't notice. He presses his face into her hair and closes his eyes and holds her close. When she recovers from the initial shock of him touching her, she wraps her arms around him and nuzzles her face into his neck.

"You don't need to thank me, Ziva," he murmurs, and she feels his chest rumble with the force of his voice. Her throat suddenly feels tight and for the second time that day, words seem too difficult. But there are specific words she needs to tell him.

When she mumbles three syllables into his neck, she is sure he doesn't hear her. Her breath is ragged; it comes out as no more than a whisper. But he must have understood her, because he tightens his hold on her and presses a kiss to the top of her head. He's glad she can't see his face, because he doesn't want her to see him fighting the tears that threaten to spill.

He isn't planning on letting go of her, ever. If he could stand here until the end of the world, he'd do it. But then, his cell phone buzzes in his pocket, and he holds back a groan. Perfect timing.

He reaches for his phone but keeps one arm around her slim waist. She understands, and only moves back enough for him to dig in his pocket for his phone. His voice sounds funny when he answers—kind of hushed and breathy—and he hopes that Gibbs won't notice.

"Yeah, boss?"

Ziva snickers as he is chastised for not returning from Abby's lab. "Abby took forever to get to the point! You know how she does that!" Tony protests in a whine. Gibbs does not seem to appreciate that excuse and he orders Tony to get his ass back upstairs as fast as possible. Tony rolls his eyes. "Yes, boss."

Tony moves to hang up, but stops when he hears Gibbs add, "And bring Ziva with you!" Then the line goes dead.

Tony pales and almost releases her from his grasp. "Did they install cameras in here or something?" he mutters, looking around cautiously. Ziva does not seem to be phased by Gibbs's command. She is staring at his face as he is searching for a wire, until finally he notices. He furrows his brow. "Is there something on my face, David?"

She ignores his snide remark and stares up at him. "Thank you for the picture frame, Tony," she says to him, her eyes shining. He rubs a small circle on her back with his hand and smiles. "You're welcome," he says. Several moments pass and they just stand there, holding each other comfortably. Finally, he sighs and lets go of her, and he flips the switch of the elevator. And he must have flipped another switch for both of them, too, because suddenly, things have returned to normal. They exchange a knowing glance and smile.

She leans down and picks up the white paper bag as the elevator doors open, and she takes the lead, walking in front of him. Her steps falter for a moment as she thinks of something. "By the way, Tony," she says, her eyes glinting with mischief, "you still snore."

He barks a laugh in indignation and follows her out of the elevator, and he's never been more grateful to have her back at NCIS.

Maybe this whole rebuilding thing won't take as long as he thought after all.

xXxXx


End file.
